Rules of Attraction (22 page)

He succeeded. Every sound she uttered sounded capitulation, every movement she performed signaled acceptance.

He had won. She had surrendered to him.

For now.

* * *

Hannah relaxed under Dougald's weight, loving the exhaustion, the repletion… the lack of conscience. It wouldn't last long, she knew. In a moment she would have to open her eyes. She would be aware and ashamed, fighting to save her pride, denying that she had surrendered. But right now—

He lifted himself off of her, separating their two bodies carefully.

Shame hit her at once. She dragged her legs together, drew her mind together, prepared for battle… and he flipped her onto her stomach. She tried to sit up, but he held her down with one hand. She heard the rustle of clothing; she craned around, trying to see, and observed as he flung his cravat, waistcoat and jacket across the room.

"Dougald, what…?"

"Do you want to talk now?" He sounded brusque.

She didn't care how he sounded. "No."

"Then
silence
."

She smiled into the counterpane.

The mattress sagged as he sat. His boots thumped to the floor one by one.

She didn't have to look to know which of his garments he removed next. His trousers were already half-off anyway. They dropped to the floor with little effort, then he sprang onto the bed. With a knee on either side of her hips, he fumbled with the buttons at the top of her gown, pulling them roughly apart. She wanted to protest, fearing damage to her dress, but she lacked the breath, the vigor, and the stylishness.

He leaned close to her neck, and his breath brushed her ear as he whispered, "You and your stupid damned clothing. You wear so much of it just to keep me from you, but that's not going to work anymore, Hannah. I want this off of you."

She found the breath to defy him. "I don't wear anything to keep you away or draw you near. I never think of you at all when I dress."

"That is your mistake." He pushed the material off her shoulders, lifted her and slid it down the front of her, jerked the sleeves off her wrists. He let her settle on the mattress again, and with lightning swift determination, he stripped her out of the garment completely. Her petticoats followed, leaving her clad in her chemise, her corset, and her best silk stockings.

He laughed, a rough and rocky chuckle, and plucked the flowered garter with his finger. "Exquisite," he said. "An indication of what resides above." One of his hands glided up her thigh to the globe of her buttocks. There he rubbed like a collector uncovering a fine diamond, and then, lightly, he slid a finger down from the base of her spine, down her cleft to that place of utter, complete sensitivity.

She rose half-off the bed, ready to turn and take him.

But with his hand on her back, he propelled her back down. Climbing atop of her again, he slipped his hands under her and, gently, tenderly cupped her breasts.

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the coverlet. She didn't have to think. Not yet.

His hands worked magic, holding her with just the right pressure, circling her nipples with his thumbs, then gently squeezing them between his fingers. Her mind drew pictures; he would draw her to her knees and mount her from behind. She would mew and claw like a cat. She shuddered, ready to have him inside her, wanting to demand he do as she wished. But she didn't have any power here; he was too strong, too experienced. A woman was never a match for a man in these circumstances.

* * *

When Hannah woke in dawn's first light, Dougald stood over her, dressed in his trousers, holding his boots, and glowering. Glowering at the room, at the narrow bed… at her. "This bedchamber is shoddy." He kissed the top of her head.

Lifting herself on her elbow, she pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Good morning to you, too."

"I'll have Mrs. Trenchard move you to a better room."

Hannah almost leaped out of the bed in protest. Almost, but she wore not a stitch and that put her at a distinct disadvantage in any confrontation with Dougald. "You will not! We'll be fortunate if we remain unobserved anyway." Then she realized what he had said. How she had answered. In both of their minds, they had copulated. They had not reconciled. "Anyway," she said, choosing her words, knowing she would falter, "it doesn't matter whether you approve of my bedchamber. You… won't be in it again."

He seemed to grow taller, broader, darker. "If I choose—"

"No. You know we can't do this again. Someone
will
see us. We'll be the center of gossip and speculation, and I… you… we don't want that right now. Do we?"

During her fumbling speech, he became the stern, impassive gentleman she had come to know in her time at Raeburn Castle. "No."

She couldn't read anything from his posture or his expression. It was as if the night had never been. Intimacy might have been a figment of her imagination, and passion… she moved her legs and experienced the muscle-deep ache.

The passion between them had been real. She couldn't deny that.

But the passion between them always had been real, and it had been for naught in the face of their marital problems. So—

"We must not do this again," she said firmly.

"I do agree."

* * *

"In a fortnight?" Miss Minnie groped for a chair and sat down hard. "The Queen will be here in a fortnight?"

A merry buzz broke out among the servants.

"Isn't it marvelous?" Aunt Spring stood, hands clasped together, eyes shining. "Queen Victoria herself is coming to see us!"

"I don't bloody believe it," Seaton said for the fourth time. "It's bloody impossible."

Dougald stood in the great hall, his back to the gaping fireplace, in front of an incredulous assemblage made up of the aunts, his treacherous heir, Charles, Mrs. Trenchard, the castle servants— and Hannah.

Hannah, his wife. He had had such torturous plans for her. And at first he'd been a complete success. He had trapped her. He had put her in a place of his keeping, made her do what he wished, and believed he would soon bring her to heel.

Then she had proceeded to turn everything on its head.

He should have anticipated that. He should have recalled her predilection for doing the unexpected.

Aunt Isabel and Aunt Ethel held hands and danced a jig while the younger servants watched and laughed.

Mrs. Trenchard clapped her hands and the footmen and serving maids quieted, but nothing could hinder their glee at knowing their sovereign would soon arrive.

Very well. Dougald had been alerted to the danger Hannah posed, and he would respond accordingly. She would no longer send letters willy-nilly around the country. She would by God never go anywhere un-escorted. And he would no longer yield to her sexual blandishments. He was a man with ice in his veins. Through solitude, hard work and desolation, he had made himself into the image of his father, dedicated to the family name and unswayed by affection of any kind. He would not let Hannah resurrect any softness in himself.

Dougald raised his voice to reach to the fringes of his audience. "This is wonderful news. We are privileged to have Her Majesty as our guest, but I don't need to tell you what we must do to prepare for a royal visit."

Charles looked Dougald up and down as if measuring him for a suit. "You need new clothing. I told you you needed new clothing."

"We shall host a grand reception." Aunt Spring's eyes narrowed. "We shall invite everyone in the district to honor Her Majesty."

"Everyone in the district?" Hannah swiveled to face Aunt Spring. "Here? At Raeburn Castle?"

The Burroughses would be here for her to meet. Dougald considered the ramifications. She was settled here at Raeburn Castle, fond of the aunts… involved with him. Very well. She would be allowed to meet her grandparents.

"The paneling. The entry." Mrs. Trenchard put her veined hand to her chest and looked around in dazed dismay. "The great hall. All must be cleaned."

"All must be restored," Dougald corrected.

"Extra care must be taken by the workmen, my lord," Charles said, "to prevent a disaster."

Aunt Isabel put her hand to her head. "I'm going to have to dye my hair."

Dougald noted his suspicion was verified.

"Try not to splash shoe polish all over the basin." Aunt Ethel measured her waist in her hands. "I wonder if I can get into my best silk."

"You look good in anything," Aunt Spring said comfortingly.

Seaton changed his chant. "This is a bloody disaster. A bloody disaster."

"Stop swearing, Seaton," Miss Minnie chided him. Extending a hand to Hannah, she said, "Is it really true, Miss Setterington? I never thought she would actually come."

"I knew Hannah would come through." Aunt Isabel tossed her dark head. "She's efficient. She's a modern woman."

Hannah took Miss Minnie's fingers in hers. "It
is
hard to believe, but it's true."

Aunt Spring took Hannah's other hand. "Dear, dear girl, this is our dream come true, and all because of you."

Hannah's smile blossomed like the brightest flower. "Not because of me, Aunt Spring, but because of your wonderful work. You"— she gestured to include all the aunts— "all of you have done this, and now all our dreams
are
coming true."

Hannah was good with people, Dougald had to admit. His grandmother had loved her, and Grandmama was not always an easy woman to please. Her last illness had hurried their nuptials, for she had wished to see Dougald safely wed. In the months that followed she had been satisfied only when Hannah was with her. Funny. It had taken seeing his wife handling these old women to remind him how much he appreciated Hannah's care of his grandmother. Remind him and think that maybe… that maybe matrimony hadn't all been so bad.

There had been moments when he and Hannah were alone, and he forgot his duties and she forgot her resentments, and they had talked. Just talked. He'd been amazed by her maturity, by the experiences that had shaped her. She had never been the typical carefree maiden, just as he was not the normal rich man's son. He had lost his mother, been isolated by a father who knew nothing of affection. Love brought only hurt.

Hannah had been showered with motherly affection, but all of her mother's love couldn't protect her from the taunts of the cruel, the proper and the bigoted.

Years separated them in age. Time separated them from their closeness. But perhaps they could capture that affinity again.

"I didn't know you knew Her Majesty, Miss Setterington." Seaton had made his way over to Hannah, and his voice had become obsequious. "You must tell me all about your acquaintance."

Dougald could almost hear his father speaking.
That's what comes of daydreaming, boy. You lose authority. You fail to keep your woman. Someone thinks they can kill you. Stop being so soft. Pay attention to business
.

His father would have been right. This was no place to contemplate Hannah and the pleasures of their marriage. Here, now, with a death threat hanging over his head and the Queen on her way, he had to be the man he had become. "We will begin at once." He leveled a stern look at Seaton. "No one here will be exempt from work. No one."

As Dougald expected, Seaton scurried away. Within an hour, Dougald got word Seaton had vacated the castle. It appeared his heir had discovered a great many calls he needed to return, and before the royal visit he would daily inflict himself elsewhere.

Now, Dougald had only to treat Hannah with the indifference she deserved.

He would never again be conquered by pleasure.

* * *

Why had Hannah ever thought she had no power? The power she wielded over Dougald grew to dazzling proportions. True, they had to be alone, he had to be naked, and she had to be kneeling between his legs, but right now he held the headboard of her bed in both his hands and writhed in quiet agony because she had told him not to touch her or she'd stop. And he would sell his soul to keep her doing what she was doing.

She smiled as she kissed her way down the left side of his abdomen, licking the sleek skin over his hip, then skittering over to his navel and pressing a kiss there. He tasted clean— he'd come to her right from his bath— and the scent of his excitement blended with the odor of his spicy soap.

He was waiting, vibrating with suspense, wondering if she would do what he thought she might. And she planned to— just as soon as she'd made him suffer. After all, she owed him some suffering, and what better way to repay that debt? So she drew out the anticipation, stroking his thighs, sliding her hands around to cup his buttocks, reveling in the firm muscularity. She caressed his ballocks, investigating the rough texture, the exuberant hairs. Had it been only two nights ago when he held her down on her bed and forced her to celebrate in her own dissipation? Well, now she could celebrate his.

"Do you like this?" She placed a low, pursed-mouth kiss on his groin just above the triangle of hair.

He didn't answer, but writhed on the bed.

"Dougald?" She lifted her head. "Shall I stop?"

"No! I love it." He took a deep breath, and his chest heaved with the effort. "Anything you want to do. Anything."

He didn't want to ask her. Probably he thought she'd be shocked. And she might have been— two nights ago. But in those two nights Dougald had taken her on sensual journeys that could only be called hedonistic. He had licked and kissed her everywhere, reduced her to a whimpering wreck, made her beg. She knew very well what he wanted. Soon she would give it to him.

She kissed him again, this time right at the base of his penis, but still she kept her lips closed. "Is that what you like?"

"Yes. Yes, that's good. But maybe…"

She blew a slow, warm stream of breath over him as she listened to him struggle for words.

"But maybe if you used your tongue…"

"Like this?" With slow anticipation, she licked all the way up his rigid straining organ.

He gasped. The muscles on his arms bulged as he fought the instinct to take her head and show her what he wanted.

"What else?" she asked softly.